


We Have Time

by holysmotez



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Better reality, Clear Day fix-it, Episode 1, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fix-it fic, Fluff, Healing, Healing from disappointing canon, Keith and Shiro should have had a goddamn date, Kosmo being Kosmo, Launch Date, Love, M/M, Picnics, Season/Series 08, Spoilers, a good doggo, arm-wrestling, carnival date, clear day, date, shiro loves you baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holysmotez/pseuds/holysmotez
Summary: The Black Paladins spend their last night on Earth together, and say what needs to be said.Continues with Clear Day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi, yes I am one of many salty VLD fans who cannot wrap their brain around the trash fire Dreamworks tossed out into the world. And, like many of you fellow fans, I am channeling my sadness and disappointment into the best way I know how to cope: fanwork. May the power of fanfic allow us heal, and I hope this fic will help in that regard.
> 
> Among the ruins of Keith and Shiro's relationship, I was most boggled right off the bat in seeing Keith spent his last night on Earth ALONE, and specifically without Shiro. This cannot stand, therefore I reject this reality and substitute my own to the best of my ability in one afternoon lol. This isn't beta'd or anything, so please enjoy, flaws and all

“So I’m ordering you to take some time for yourselves. Be with the ones you love. You’ve earned it.”

Shiro looks great. Fantastic, really, despite working day and night to prepare Atlas and its crew to take the fight beyond Earth. His command, and his role as one of the linchpins of the Coalition, fits him as snugly as the cut of his black and white uniform.

Yet there is still something surreal about seeing him back in a Garrison-issue uniform, and equally so in hearing his voice, full of his indomitable vitality despite everything he had been through. That perfect voice that blends confident reassurance with the call to action. His commanding presence is still a irresistible as it ever was, and you can’t help but get drawn in, as if Shiro were the only other person in the room, and talking directly to you.

“Keith? Why are you still here?”

Keith blinks, noticing that the last of the Atlas and Voltron teams have shuffled out.

“Oh. I, um…” he starts.

Before Shiro was taken away (he refuses to adopt the word died), Keith had no issue meeting the eye of his leader. Of tracking his every move with a fixation that bordered on worship. Okay, it might have been worship. He might have done too much looking in his lifetime, and while he may never get over his streak of hero worship, but if there were any hero more deserving, he’s never heard of them.

But strangely, ever since Shiro received his new arm and took command of Atlas, ever since his wan resurrection bloomed into a vibrant rebirth, he finds that he can no longer stare for too long.

So he ducks his chin, training his eyes on his clasped hands resting on the table. “I don’t have anywhere else to be,” he says. _And just following orders,_ almost slips.

He can’t hide for long when Shiro ducks his head, forcing him to take in his dazzling face. It dazzles brighter when Shiro grins and says, in that same gentle, compelling way, “I can think of a place. Sunset is in two hours.”

At that, Shiro snaps into focus, and it’s almost embarrassing how Keith’s heart flutters when he catches on to his meaning. “Really?” he says at first, but in the next instant, he sobers. “I mean, don’t you have work? There must still be a lot of last minute preparations left to do.”

Shiro chuckles, straightening. “We launch tomorrow, Keith. Save for the Altean, all the high-level decision-making has been over and done with. Besides,” he sighs, running his human finger under his collar. “I’m dying to get out of here and out of this itchy thing for a while. Meet you in an hour?”

 _Really?_ Keith almost says again, but at Shiro’s expectant look assures him that he is for real. That this is real. So he grins. A full-on, stupid grin. “We can take Black.”

Shiro’s expression softens. “Perfect. I’ll bring us something to eat. We’ll make it a picnic.”

It’s not until Keith is halfway to his quarters when he hopes Shiro didn’t mind how fast he bolted from the war room, as if the Lion were carrying him by his scruff.

* * *

 

Even after taking hour, largely just to compose himself after a quick shower and change of clothes, Keith’s heart continues to thud in his chest. He paces underneath Black, the Lion resting back on its haunches in the Lions’ hangar bay. Ever so often, he shoots glances toward the entryway.

Kosmo whines, flicking his bushy tail from where he lays next to one of the Lion’s claws.

“I’m alright, boy,” Keith tells him. The whining stops, but Kosmo doesn’t look convinced as he lowers his head between his paws.

He can smell the adrenaline, Keith figures. His nerves and veins thrum with it, but it’s not from the thought of being on the cusp of battle, nor the pervasive threat of death ahead of them. The last time he felt this keyed up, it was on a floating nightmare on the edge of space, surrounded by Shiro’s clones, when they were, when he was-

The hangar doors burst open. He lets out the breath he had been holding when Shiro sweeps in, and it’s crushing just how regal he looks in a black t-shirt and faded jeans as much as he does in full uniform. His brilliant smile flashes when he catches sight of Keith, and it’s then the latter notices something in his artificial hand.

Shiro presents him with it, as if it were a prized game animal he caught himself. Only instead of a carcass, it’s a basket. An actual picnic basket.

Stars above, he loves this man.

“Really?” Keith says, taking the presented offering. “Where did you even find something like this?”

“Just wait until you see what’s inside,” Shiro says.

Keith quirks a brow, and moves to open the lid, but Shiro’s gentle human hand at his wrist stops him-- and his breathing for a tick.

“Let’s head out first,” Shiro says. He glances over to Kosmo. “You coming along, too?”

Kosmo perks up at that, tail wagging and mouth panting. Keith has nothing but his naked affection when Shiro pats his leg and the dog pops over from laying on the floor to nuzzling his chin against Shiro’s knee. Shiro gives him a good scratch behind his ears, and Kosmo huffs and closes his eyes with a bliss as though he’s having the time of his life.

“How do you do that?” Keith asks.

“Do what?”

“Make everyone love you.”

Shiro startles at that, his hand coming to a stop along Kosmo’s nape. When he doesn’t reply, Keith says, “Sorry. That’s a weird question.”

“No, it’s okay,” Shiro tells him, straightening up from Kosmo, the latter snorting with disappointment. “Just wish I could give you even a half decent answer.”

“It’s no big deal. Shall we? Kosmo can take us inside.”

“Actually,” Shiro says, gazing up the Black Lion. “I was sort of hoping for the old-fashioned way.”

Keith can’t deny him anything, so with basket in hand, he waves off Kosmo with his other, and gestures to the Black Lion. The beast heeds him, air and ground alike quaking around its every movement as it leans forward to open its jaws and allow them entry.

As they walk up the ramp, Kosmo trailing behind, Shiro says, “It’s still just as incredible as the first time.”

“Yeah.”

“And seeing you command her so gracefully. That never gets old.”

Keith whips his head around, looking back to get an eyeful of Shiro’s radiant smile. He snaps back forward, his stupid heart finding a new home in his throat. “Thanks,” he manages to choke out, setting picnic basket down and beelining for the cockpit. Shiro, meanwhile, takes his time joining him, running both his human and his artificial fingers over the Lion’s interior. Keith, meanwhile, leans against the console, giving his predecessor the silence and space for him to drink it in.

“The sun won’t wait for you two to get reacquainted,” Keith teases.

Shiro chuckles. “I don’t think there will be any reacquainting, but it is nice to be here again while in a state of mind to appreciate all she’s done for me. For us.”

With the way Shiro’s says it, wistful yet contented, Keith can only come up with a “Yeah” before he has to tear his eyes away. Kosmo gives him a good excuse when he darts in with the basket in tow, settling in on his belly with contented flicks of his tail. Taking the pilot’s chair, and with a few inputs, he signals the hangar to open up to the dusty, cratered landscape outdoors. “Permission to launch, Captain?”

“Granted. And don’t even dream of taking us out easy.”

Keith grins, looking back at him over his shoulder.

With his metal hand, Shiro anchors himself with a firm grip on the back of his chair. He confirms, “Let ‘er rip, will you?”

Keith faces forward. He grips the control sticks, and it almost hurts from how can’t stop smiling. “Yes, sir!”

He throws the controls forward and the Lion bursts from the hangar, with a boom that probably sent a minor earthquake through the base. He doesn’t care when he hears Shiro’s laughter fill the cockpit, loud and warm.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you,” Keith says.

He opens the basket. First of all, there’s a folded checkered blanket resting on top. Shiro gives him a look before snatching it up. He snaps it out and lays it out across the top of the Black Lion’s wide nose.

While he does that, Keith looks further, and discovers two sandwiches. The dark color of the bread halts his every passing thought. “No,” he whispers. Keith extracts them, just to keep his hands busy while he desperately gropes for anything to say. “You-, you made these.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I, uh, had noticed you ate the same thing everyday for lunch. I asked you once about it, remember?”

“Peanut butter and banana on pumpernickel. You thought it was disgusting.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Shiro laughs.  Even against the orange rays of dusk, there’s a rosy tint to Shiro’s cheeks by now as he sits cross-legged on the blanket and takes one of the sandwiches. “Well, I thought you might appreciate something that reminds you of those much simpler times.”

Still astonished, Keith asks, “I do, but...where did you even find pumpernickel? And bananas? All of this?”

Shiro shrugs. He shifts, coming to lean back beside him against the brow of the Lion, his Altean arm coming to rest between them. “You’d be surprised what people can scrounge up these days, especially when it’s the Captain of Atlas calling in a favor. Don’t tell anyone else I said that.”

A realization crashes down on Keith like a shot down spaceship, and he nearly drops the sandwich between his legs. “You couldn’t have come up with all of it in an hour. You were planning this.”

“Can’t put anything past you,” Shiro replies as if it had been obvious from the start. He takes an enormous bite, grimacing as he chews, but he swallows it down as if it were his favorite.

“Why?” Keith asks, unable to look at neither the sandwich in his hand not Shiro’s face, so he settles on the knuckles of his Altean arm.

“Because you’re sharp.”

“No, I mean, why did you plan this?”

Shiro clears his throat, and his broad shoulders shift as if he were squaring up for battle. He says, “Because I owe you an apology.”

Keith frowns. “For what?”

“For, well, for not being as available lately. At all, really, at least not as a friend. It's been my fault that most of our conversations have revolved around business since we’ve begun to rebuild, but even before all that. I haven’t been talking to you like I know I should.”

“It’s okay, Shiro. No one, and I mean no one has gone through or should ever go through what you have.”

He chances a look up, and the softness of Shiro’s handsome features devastates any semblance of his reason. His heart pitter-patters, and he decides he can no longer appreciate the brilliant colors of a sunset anymore except for how they appear against Shiro’s skin.

Shiro says, “I appreciate that. There is no reference for how to navigate coming back to life in a body that is both yours, and not your own. Recalling memories that are mine, but also new ones that I didn’t write. I think I’ve been out of sorts a lot longer than anyone realizes, including me.”

“That’s why it’s okay. You should take all the time you need.”

“Well, we don’t have time as luxury anymore. Same as it ever was, huh?” Shiro says this as he pulls his gaze from Keith out to the waning sunset. “So, to answer your question, it’s because time is the most precious resource we have. I want to make sure I spend it wisely with the people I care about.”

A blaze of heat floods under Keith’s jaw, suddenly preferring the sight of sunset as well, only just having just begun to touch the horizon.

Shiro says, “No. Not the people I care about. The people I love.”

For an embarrassing moment, Keith can’t turn his head back to him, as much as his heart screams for him to do so. But he doesn’t want Shiro to see the sudden burst of tears in his eyes, or the jolt of surprise that ambushes him.

Kosmo whines.

“What?” Shiro asks, and Keith isn’t sure if it’s to him or the dog.

He does the only thing he feels capable of in that moment, and it’s to lace his fingers with Shiro’s Altean ones. Mercifully, and because Shiro always seems to know precisely what he needs, a moment of companionable silence hangs between them as they both gaze out on the expanse of shifting colors ahead, onto bright oranges that have begun to meld into deep reds and dark purples. Even Kosmo is silent with his head tucked between his paws.

“It’s good advice,” Keith says, shattering the peace. He gives Shiro’s hand a gentle squeeze, the metal surprisingly warm under his fingertips. “You’ve given me a lot of that.”

“You don’t need my advice anymore. You’ve got plenty of your own to give now.”

Keith swallows. “Yeah. Shiro?”

“Hm?”

Blinking back his tears, he turns his chin. He almost gasps when his vision fills with the dusk-tinted grays of Shiro’s eyes. Before his courage can drain down out of his spine, he says, “I’m glad you chose to spend your last night with me.”

“I’d hardly call it a choice,” Shiro tells him.

Before Keith’s brain can fully process it, Shiro untangles their fingers to lift his arm and curl them around Keith’s opposite shoulder. As naturally as his breathing, Keith leans in and presses his cheek into the crook of Shiro’s shoulder. His natural musk and a tinge of sweat flood his nostrils, and he could have died right then without a regret to sully his conscience.

“You haven’t touched your sandwich,” Shiro observes, his voice rumbling against Keith’s cheek. “Did I make it wrong?”

“No.”

“Alright.” Shiro leans forward, setting his bitten sandwich down on his thigh before tucking his free hand into the basket. He searches for something, ah-haing when he extracts a round, biscuit-shaped object. “I didn’t forget about you either, Kosmo. Hey, boy!”

He hears Kosmo pant with excitement before Shiro tosses the snack over. The loud crunching that ensues signals an enthusiastic approval.

“I love you,” Keith says. Hot tears track down his cheek, too many absorbing into Shiro’s shirt, but he just couldn’t give a shit anymore.

He silently panics during the instant Shiro freezes, but it subsides when the latter sits back against Black, pulling Keith along with him. Even his internal crisis melts in the warmth of this loose embrace, and when warm lips nuzzle into the top of his hair, and warm breath tickles his scalp. Shiro inhales sharply, and pulls him closer.

“The moment I woke up in this body,” Shiro starts, resting his cheek on the top of Keith’s head. His voice shudders, uncharacteristic. “I knew of two impossible things that weren’t anymore. One, that a person could come back from the dead. Two, that someone like you could actually exist.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone who never once treated me like a dead man. Someone who never gave up on me.” Shiro shifts, bringing his bulky Altean hand around. Gently, he takes Keith by the chin, conveying an order to lift his eyes, an order that he could do nothing but carry out. It stuns him when he sees the same glassy sheen of tears reflected back to him. Shiro’s breath rolls over his cheeks when he says, “Someone I now know I would do the same thing for, without hesitation, no matter what the odds. And whatever happens after we launch tomorrow, Keith, I promise you that we will return home. The both of us.”

Shiro’s lips hover a short few inches away from his own, but seem as far away as the canyons all around them. Suddenly, he feels a nudge at his back, then a not-so-gentle push.

“Kosmo!” Keith hisses, but then Shiro is smiling, and then slotting his lips across his own. It’s so soft that Keith wonders if he’s imagining it as his eyelids fall shut on reflex. But when the pressure becomes firmer, and when Shiro opens the barest bit to suck gently at Keith’s lower lip, Keith abandons the last threadbare shreds of his self-discipline.

He leans in, gripping Shiro’s knee as he thrusts his tongue past Shiro’s lips, earning him a delighted moan and a return in kind when Shiro glides his tongue across. Their first kiss is messy, kind of filthy really, and so, so heart-crushing. He wants to do this forever. He wants the universe to figure itself out on its own, so that they can do this everyday. Intrusively, his weird sandwich flavors never tasted so good while on Shiro’s tongue, and he marks it down as another one of his favorite things he’ll never be able to enjoy without him.

The need for air forces them apart, but Shiro continues to press his lips over his cheeks, and brushes away a lock of bangs to press another kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he breathes. “I should have been telling you that everyday since you brought me back.”

Keith places a hand to his chest, over his heart, and takes a fistful of his shirt. “After you...after you left, I knew I should have told you everyday since we became Paladins.”

“Oh, Keith.” Shiro folds his arms around him and pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him, smiling into the bend of his neck. “We have the time now.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, chin nestled in the dip of his shoulder. He then says, “Hey, pupper. Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

Keith laughs, releasing Shiro so he can look around to find Kosmo with his snout raised and wagging his bushy tail. “He’s the best kind of troublemaker.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Shiro says, planting another firm kiss to his temple.

They freeze when they hear a clattering, and from not very far away. They pry themselves apart when the noise grows louder, and Shiro swings his Altean arm around to defend them if need be.

“So this is where you two have been hiding,” a voice calls. “You two can be real hard to find when you wanna.”

“Lance?” Shiro asks, lowering his guard.

Keith does the same and calls back, “Yeah, and we were having a real nice time until you-, whoa, what are you wearing?”

Lance crawls up and around the bend of Black’s cheek, crowned with a dutch oven over his head, skillets over his shoulders, and a wrap of sausage around his neck, among other oddities too numerous to fully appreciate in a single take. “Coran made it for me for my date with Allura,” he confesses as he clatters and shuffles over to the picnic blanket. He plops himself down on its checkered face, despair weighing down his shoulders. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt yours.”

“Well, it’s, um,” Keith starts.

“I just didn’t know who else to turn to for some advice, and you two are like, my ultimate heroes,” Lance goes on.

“It’s alright, Lance,” Shiro assures him. “We have time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continue to the next chapter for a Clear Day fix-it!


	2. Clear Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still channeling my disappointment into the healing power of fic. Here is my fix-it for Clear Day. Not beta'd or anything, just needed to type all this out for my soul lol. Please enjoy

“Let’s remember why we came here in the first place: to provide security for the event.”

Predictably, Pidge makes up a flimsy excuse about guarding the arcade, and disappears. Lance, Hunk, then Coran follow suit.

Even Shiro fights not to wince at the rigid way Keith delivers the reminder, like a headmaster might to a group of rowdy school kids on a field trip. He has it in mind to ask Allura if there might exist a word in Altean for the unbridled way Keith broadcasts his feelings, quenched as they are in his hard-earned wisdom and experience.

Because to be sure, the word _cute_ certainly isn’t precise nor adequate, nor should not be used anywhere in the same galaxy as Keith. Shiro knows this. He knows this like he knows not to touch an open flame. He knows if he ever uttered it in Keith's presence, the latter would be liable to remove his other arm and flog him senseless with it.

He can’t extinguish the endearment that comes with the term, however, when he remembers that this battle-forged paladin, this agile warrior, is the same tear-streaked, vulnerable creature he had held in his arms and had the privilege to hold and kiss breathless. Like he had caught the very sunset.

But Keith, ever Keith, had sewn that part of himself back up as best as he could by the time he slipped back into uniform the next morning. Honed and glinting, Keith could not be more elegant and beautiful, as if the Atlas itself had brandished her own luxite sword.

A lifetime ago, Shiro had struggled to persuade Keith to care enough about self-discipline. Now, however, that all-or-nothing streak seems to be swinging in the opposite direction with these long days in space, and while Keith is his own man now, it pains Shiro to think that he might have had anything to do with his current dilemma.

So he says, "Keith, relax. Go have fun.”

"If we’re not here for protection, then what are we doing here?” Keith fires back.

"Morale on the Atlas is low after what happened on Oriande. Who knows? A few hours at the carnival might give us the boost we need to get back on track.”

Keith considers this, but says, “I don’t think we should let down our guard completely.”

Always sharp, but Shiro figured out the way to smooth out the rough edges long ago.

"You’re right. Why don’t I come with you on patrol, then? Nothing will get by with the two of us on lookout."

Tension still lingers in Keith's shoulders, but his eyes drop to his boots. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other as if he were nervous, and the fight in him drains away all too suddenly. He says, "Don't you want to get away, too? Have fun?"

"Is something wrong, Keith?"

They haven’t had a real chance to talk since leaving Earth, at least not about things other than strategy and mission debriefs. The resulting chasm that formed was insidious. Only now Shiro senses it, like stopping short of a high drop off. Another tell tugs Keith's brow, even though he says, "No. I'm fine, Shiro. I can go patrol on my own, and so you all can relax and have fun instead."

Shiro reaches out to bridge the distance, his Altean fingers coming to rest on Keith's shoulder in a familiar gesture. When Keith lifts his eyes, he says, "Keith. It's me."

Finally, Keith relaxes under his fingertips.

"Come on," Shiro says, guiding Keith to walk alongside him. "Who says we can't patrol and still have some fun? We can make a game of our own. How about, first one to spot a suspicious character gets to make the other clean and press his uniform? By hand."

Keith loosens up more when a huff of laughter escapes him. "Alright. You're on."

* * *

 

Game tables, food stalls, and rickety rides relentlessly assault them with bright lights, odd smells, and boisterous noise. The combination of distractions makes focus difficult, yet Shiro finds his senses drawn to the paladin beside him, like a point of light in a fog.

Shiro kicks at a rock as they stroll, left hand buried in his pocket full of tokens, and the collar of his officer's jacket unbuttoned and loose. The companionable silence is nice, but Keith, meanwhile, did not so much stroll as he did march. Straight-backed and severe, his head turns as if on an automated swivel, scanning and checking over every person within sight. Shiro's unsure if it's due to his commitment to their duty here, or if he just wants to win their game. Either way it's exhausting, and wonders if his presence only made it more difficult for Keith to let go.

Let go. He knows better than anyone that Keith just doesn't do that. Not without something else to hold onto.

Shiro jumps when the shrill voice of a barker calls out to them: "Do I spot two Coalition champions? Or are they just chumps? What do you say, think you've got what it takes? Shoot enough targets, win one of our giant prizes!"

Shiro glances over, eyebrow raising at the row of giant purple lions on display. He nudges Keith and nods towards them. "Want to?"

"Why?" Keith asks, turning his head to look. "You think he's suspicious?"

"What? No. We've just been circling for a while. Maybe just one game wouldn't hurt.”

Keith keeps walking. "No thanks.”

“Oh, come on. What if I want to win you a prize?"

“Game's probably rigged anyway."

Shiro sighs, tokens jingling in his pocket. "Alright then. Nevermind.”

Another circle later, another barker calls out: "Get your deep fried Paladin Lunch here! On a stick! Get an authentic taste of what the paladins of Voltron eat everyday for lunch! _On a stick!_ ”

Shiro smiles. “Everyday, huh? Never thought I might be delighted to hear the words ‘paladin lunch’ ever again. Remember when Coran tried to feed that to us?”

A renewed hope surges in him with when that coaxes a smile out of Keith. “Can’t be any better deep fried. Or in any form, really. None of us were having it, especially you,” he says fondly.

"Funny that I'm almost tempted now just for the nostalgia, even if it does smell like rancid cheese wrapped in old socks. So, how about it? On me."

Keith answers, "No thanks, Shiro. Don’t waste your tokens."

Shiro deflates. He should have expected the reply, but it still stings. "Okay, but if you change your mind-,"

Keith’s smile has all but faded by now, replaced with a hard line. "Stop, okay?”

“Stop what? Keith, I was just-,”

“I can't believe I'm having to ask you of all people to stay focused."

It comes out of Keith's mouth like a lash, and catches Shiro off guard. "Keith," he says, loading it with all the concern he can muster. He knows he should have been making more of an effort, to at least try and take their surveillance seriously, but the biggest threat he can determine right now is whatever unspoken worry has Keith so on edge.

"Sorry," Keith says, slowing to a stop.

Shiro does the same, turning to face him fully. "Just tell me. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," he lies, and badly at that, with the way he seems to avoid looking him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro spots a narrow gap between some carnival tents coming up on their left. He clears his throat, and makes it appear like he’s distracted by something over Keith’s shoulder.

Keith looks at him then, quirking his brow. "Something wrong?"

The alley seems out of the way, it's shadowed, and it's perfect. Shiro says, "Over there. I think I see something odd."

Keith whips around. "What is it? I don't-, hey!"

Shiro takes him by the hand, pulling him into the alley. Keith lets himself be led, but his incessant protests don't end until Shiro turns, cups his cheeks, and kisses him silent.

Keith tenses, but Shiro kisses him softly, and with gentle persuasion, until Keith slips his arms around his neck and pulls them closer. He welcomes it when Keith breaches past his lips, shallow as though reacquainting himself, then deeper as though to drown them with his liquid fire.

Keith's lips glisten and his breath shudders when they pull apart, but Shiro revels too soon in his presumed victory over Keith's recalcitrance. "I thought we were supposed to be patrolling, Captain," Keith says blankly.

Shiro grimaces, prickling with frustration. He pulls one of Keith's hands down to press against his chest. He has infinite patience for the man before him, but it doesn't mean it stops being tested. "Will you just drop it for a minute? I don’t want have to pull rank."

“ _Pull rank?_ ” Keith repeats. The hand clutched in his rips out of his grasp, and instantly Shiro realizes he made a terrible mistake. He seems to be making a few of them lately, and he's not thrilled with the disgust on Keith's face that this one earns him.

"What's up with you?" Keith demands, and Shiro might have read his tone as concern if not for how he glares at him.

"With me?” Shiro says dumbly, because for the life of him, he still can’t determine what this is really about.

“You’ve been...different, since we left Earth.”

It’s a start, at least. Shiro takes the opening and says,“A lot of things are different about us now, but some things will always be the same. You might be able to convince everyone else that you're okay, but not me. You're really tense, Keith. You can't be an effective leader if you're strung too tight. You could snap that way."

Keith scoffs and takes a further step back from him. Crossing his arms, he says coldly, "I thought you were done giving me advice."

Shiro reels at that, but kicks himself for the slip back into their old, defunct ways. Ways the both of them have grown past. Truly, this was never about those ways at all.

"I'm just worried about you," he admits. "I want to be sure you're taking care of yourself. I meant it when I said I want the both of us to return home."

The hard lines of Keith's brow soften. He sighs. His violet eyes fall, settling on some vague point on the ground. He then says a name, barely above a whisper: "Zethrid."

"Huh?"

"When Zethrid had me. You...you didn't do anything. Veronica had to bail me out."

Ice floods Shiro's veins at Keith's words, and at that awful memory it dredges up. "I-..." he starts, but his brain is too hypothermic to form coherent thoughts, his throat too paralyzed to form words.

Keith was right. Shiro stood on the lip of that raging volcano just as frozen as he is now, his panic worsening at how bad it must look for him not to articulate why. The longer the ticks grow between them, the more Keith's face contorts to reflect his ugly failure back at him.

"You also have an admirer fawning over you like a lovesick puppy,” Keith levels at him, as though that were all his fault, too.

It sobers him enough to say, "What? Who?"

Keith huffs, exasperated. "Really? Officer Curtis, that's who."

Shiro blinks, quickly thumbing through faces on the IGF Atlas in his mind. When he lands on the correct one, he says incredulously, "Our bridge engineer?"

"You really don't-?" Keith starts, the rest choked off with an eyeroll. "You know what? Nevermind. Thanks for the thought, but I don't think carnival games and nice kisses are going to help me relax. Work helps me relax. And forgive me, Captain, but you know me. I don't always follow orders very well. I'll finish out the patrol by myself from here."

Shiro - stupidly - lets him walk away.

* * *

 

It’s official. Coming to this carnival might have been the second worst mistake Shiro’s ever made since embarking on their mission.

The first, clearly, was giving in to his worst instincts in seeing Keith held hostage by a vengeful Zethrid. He behaved like some greenhorn fresh from academy, and not the experienced veteran they both knew he was.

His hand sinks deeper into his pocket, sighing as he steps and bumps past carnival goers underfoot, utterly useless as a lookout for the way he can only seem to stare ahead at nothing.

"Watch where you're going!"

Shiro startles. "Sorry, I didn't see-,"

"Course you didn't!"

He mumbles another apology. What was the matter with him?

Veronica shot Zethrid, but it doesn't mean he wasn't ready to pull the trigger himself.

Wasn't he?

If a bullet didn't kill Zethrid, then the fall into the open volcano would have. He would have to have been prepared to kill her. Veronica must have been prepared to kill her. Moreso than he was.

And it had been _Keith_ in Zethrid's grasp. His steady blade, his longing sunset. If she had extinguished him right then, right before his eyes, then no other flame in the universe could have warmed him again.

So why didn't he _do_ anything?

The clang of a boxing bell jars him, the shrill noise cutting through the mental chorus of his self-loathing. He stops in his tracks and turns in the direction of the sound, where he spots a single large tent. It dwarfs all the others at the carnival by a good margin, and the bright lights within draw him like a moth. Intrigued, he heads for it, where he finds a giant stage with stage lights shining down from the ceiling onto a raised central arena, dotted with tables.

Arm-wrestling. Burly contestants of all shapes and sizes stretch and pop their knuckles before squaring off at one of the tables ahead.

"Captain!"

Shiro turns about, the voice familiar somehow. He learns why when he spots Officer Curtis, waving as he comes over.

"Curtis. I thought you were with the pilots?" Shiro says.

"I was, but then I saw you, and noticed you were by yourself. I thought you were with Keith?"

Shiro sighs. "We...we decided to split up." When Curtis raises a brow, he quickly corrects: "Our lookout, I mean. We decided we’d cover more ground that way."

"Oh."

Curtis was nice. Pleasant. Like a lazy morning sunrise over a quiet lake. He had this gentle, unflappable aura that put everyone at ease, a trait that made him ideal for a battleship bridge environment.

Quite the opposite of a certain firecracker currently plaguing Shiro's thoughts, and the contrast only serves to remind him of that fact.

He tamps down another troubled sigh. He could follow his own advice. Relax, cut loose. Some low-stakes competition would help take his mind off things.

"I'm thinking another lap around might be overkill at this point, though," Shiro tells him. "I have tokens burning a hole in my pocket, and this looks like fun."

"There's no way you'd lose," Curtis says, eyes alight with certainty. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to come cheer you on."

He has to admit, Curtis' full confidence in him helps push him past the last of his inhibitions. And after enduring another yet barbed conversation with Burr, he gladly hands over his entry fee.

* * *

 

“Now, let’s put on a show!”

The Warden tightens his grip and pushes against Shiro’s with a vigor that would have torn his human arm right off. Shiro grunts, quaking with the exertion even through his Altean arm. Channelling all of his might, a full-throated shout bursts from his throat, and in a seismic finish, Shiro slams the Warden's arm down with world-shattering strength.

The arena explodes with cheer, the gathered spectators blowing the tent down with shouts and applause. Before he knows it, Pidge, Lance, Hunk, Coran, and all of his friends and found family are rushing to lift him high on their shoulders.

“You’re alright, Shiro.” The Warden, humble in defeat, clasps the gleaming gold proof of his victory around his human arm.

When the cheers subside and his friends set him down, he catches Curtis waving to him at the rim of the stage. His smile is broad and sincere. Handsome, really, and Shiro can't help but mirror him with a smile and wave of his own. But then, in a second of an eternity too late, he catches on a flash of red and white.

Keith. He was there. He was there to cheer for him in his victory, and with how he dashes out from the tent with a pained look. Shiro knows he saw him wave at Curtis like a sap. He freezes. Again.

He had just won.  He had just won, and he feels like an absolute loser.

“Shiro? You alright?” Pidge asks him from under a ridiculous-looking helmet.

Shiro says, “No.” _No._ He was done thinking about this. He was done behaving like someone else, like someone he didn’t even recognize. He was Takashi Shirogane of the Voltron Coalition. He could control a bad situation, and not let a bad situation control _him._

He charges from the stage, out from under the harsh stage lights. Curtis blocks his way at the bottom, saying, "Wow, you are amazing, sir! I knew that you-"

"Excuse me," Shiro interrupts, sailing past him, with only a tinge of regret, there and then gone. He doesn't care, at least not more than he does about his singular mission, etched on the back of the Red Paladin suit.

"Keith!" he calls when he exits the tent, loud, ensuring there was no way that he could pretend not to hear him. Carnival patrons startle, and give him wide berth.

Keith halts, and Shiro slows his stride as though he were approaching a skittish deer. Keith doesn't turn around, but he waits for him. "You came to watch," Shiro says.

"Yeah. Congratulations," Keith says flatly. "No incidents for me to report. Guess I'll see you back on the Atlas."

His determination falters as he stares at the back of Keith's head, the flighty parts of him taking inventory of all the possible things he could say. _I didn't have a good shot. I knew Veronica would be in better position. I didn’t want to provoke Zethrid any further._

"I was scared," he blurts, because nothing else was right. Nothing.

And that's what makes Keith twist to look back at him. He lances Shiro with a single look, and the rest spills out like pus from a festering boil.

"I don't think I've ever been so scared. Not even when the Galra abducted me. Not even when we fought Zarkon. Not even when my sanity and my life were taken away."

As though snagged on a hook, Keith makes a slow pivot around. His gaze is gentle, but indecipherable.

Shiro swallows around a dry lump, but continues, "But she. Zethrid. She was about to take away the only thing in universe I can't lose. I can't lose you, Keith. There's no difference between the infinite void and any existence without you in it. So I guess I froze. I froze like it was my first day on the job. Like an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I caused you to doubt me."

Keith remains silent, but takes a tentative step toward him. His expression smolders like embers after blowing across them, as if the all the obnoxious noise, all the bright lights, and all the things that do and don’t matter had all fallen away around them, and they’re back atop the Black Lion overlooking their last sunset on Earth.

Slowly, Shiro reaches for his golden armband and removes it. "This should belong to you,” he says, and Keith lets him clasp it around his arm instead. "Said I wanted to win you a prize. Consider it my promise that I'll never, ever be such an idiot ever again."

The last word is hardly out of his mouth before suddenly, warm lips are crushing against his, and arms are wrapping around his neck like a coil. His own hands fly, wrapping themselves around Keith's back, and he accepts the hard urgency of the kiss until it melts into something easy and wonderful.

He pulls off for air, resting his forehead against the man he loves.

Keith nuzzles, then slips forward, pressing his lips to his ear. He says, "I expect a cleaned and pressed uniform when we get back. Then I'll consider you forgiven."

Shiro chuckles, holding him closer. "Done."

"But I'm sorry, too," Keith says, pulling back to look at him. "I was too harsh, because I know. I know how it feels to have lost your whole world.”

Shiro kisses him, perhaps a little too roughly, but pops off to say, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

This sharp creature in his arms, so achingly soft now, brushes aside the lock of his white hair. “I do need a reminder to take it easy sometimes, too. I know you mean the best for me."

"I do, but I also needed to hear what you said. I need you to remind me to act sometimes, and not just think."

  
Keith smiles, a slight turn of his lip that does nothing but devastate. "I love you, Shiro."

The phrase will never cease to pounce like an ambush, those words from those lips, punching Shiro's heart into stutter-step. For all his misfortune over his years, it still astounds him that one simple sentence could convince him that he was the luckiest man to ever live. The awe and love he carries in return is like trying to cope with a black hole existing within the confines of his chest. It's crushing. It hurts, but it's inescapable, warping everything else around them until space-time becomes a meaningless concept.

It’s an infinite void, but one he’d have within, rather than be without.

"I love you so much, Keith."

He squeezes Keith's hand in his human one. And he kisses him-- chaste, but full.

For the second time that night, cheers erupt. As if rudely waking from a dream, Keith startles, then turns aways, hiding his reddening face. In the opposite direction, over his shoulder, Shiro realizes the cause-- the Atlas and Voltron crew gathered behind them, clapping and hollering.

Curtis is among them. Maybe in another life, another reality, it could have been something more.

But in this one, Shiro wraps his Altean arm around Keith’s waist, and keeps him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any and all feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I welcome feedback, or if you just want to rage in the comments, you then have my shoulder to cry on


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